Oliver's Story - The Tale of an Enterprising Engine
by Alexander II Mapleshield
Summary: My take on the story of Oliver the Great Western Engine. Inspiration for this piece came from the original Redub by FlameAmigo619, the Original Railway Series, and the Original Television Series episodes; I may or may not do one of Stepney the Bluebell Engine, but I'm sure just yet. Once again, however, I will not be doing a Thomas and Friends series of my own.


_**Dear Readers,**_

_**Here is an idea I've been working on for a while now. If any of you have been a fan of the Redub-youtuber: Flamemigo619, then you will remember his redub: Oliver's Story. I was much younger when I found it on the internet, but completely enthralled - and after re-watching the original episodes from the late 90's and hearing how the Reverend Wilbert Awdry had first written the story out, I decided to try my hand at it.**_

_**Upon revisiting this project and bringing it back into the picture, the YouTuber: TheScotsmanReturns uploaded his final video: 'The Little Westerner', which I plan to either reference in this story, or even pick up where the video left off - as I started writing that out in one of my binders, and I never really finished it. And now that I'm thinking about it, I want to include it.**_

_**Now, I had started work on this during my first year of College, but as the assignments and work piled up, I left it where it was - in some forgotten file folders in my hard drive. And while writing this out, I believe I had yet to get past the second chapter - I tend to save these projects in ****separate**** documents to make the uploading process go a little smoother - so I haven't looked to see if I made it past the second one.**_

_**For now, enjoy the prologue. And I'll try to complete and upload the rest of the chapters eventually.**_

_**Sincerely, Alexander II Mapleshield**_

* * *

One wintry night, Douglas was resting in his shed at Tidmouth Hault. It had been a long day on the Island of Sodor, and he was just relaxing after helping his twin Donald and their friend Duck on 'The Little Western'.

Douglas' crew were soon busy clearing his tubes for the night, and Douglas was sighing contentedly as breathing became much easier for him to manage. After that, the crew moved on to clearing the clinker from his firebox.

This usually made Douglas particularly drowsy, and he was just dozing off when Duck and Donald trundled backwards into the berths to his right and began letting off; filling the shed with smoke and steam.

"Evening, Douglas." Duck heaved a heavy sigh, drawing to a halt before he reached the buffers.

"Evening Brother." Donald smiled faintly as he came to a stop,

"Aye," Douglas replied in kind, "Evenin' tae the both o'ya."

Now that he had been roused, the three engines began talking about the day's events. After some tired gossip and some mild complaining – on behalf of the twins – Douglas looked up at the sky.

"It's ne'er really been the same since he wonaway." He sighed.

Duck was perplexed,

"Since who went away?" He asked.

Duck had a feeling he knew who Douglas meant, but he didn't want to say anything in case he was wrong.

But if this was the topic he thought it was, then the situation was certainly sensitive for all who worked on 'The Little Western'; anyone who carelessly mentioned it was left to furious glares from both workmen and engine.

"Oliver." Donald said sadly, looking down at his buffers, "It's been five years since he's gone, and 'eve still 'ad no werd on him."

"Aah . . ." Duck sighed and also cast his gaze down to the ballast, ". . . Oh, I do miss Oliver. I rather do wish he'd wanted to stay with us."

"Ye've coonted tha days?" Douglas asked,

"It wasn'e a challenge." Donald remarked, "We were all a sorry sight when he left."

"Ye didn'e rescue the wee engine." Douglas smirked, "Bu' ye miss 'im more than me."

"Hard no' tae!" Donald retorted, "He was a brilliant friend."

The crews were soon clocking out for the night. The engines had their cabs cleaned, and their windows rubbed down before they were left alone at the sheds.

Douglas hadn't taken his eyes off of the skies, he had a melancholic glint in his eyes as the last of the smoke and steam leaked out of the shed berths. The stars in the night began to slowly wheel overhead, occasionally obscured by the clouds, hardly seen against the dark canvas of the night.

"Ah can see why the other engines took him for 'snobby'," He mused, "'E had a quiet way about him- a huff an' a puff that just wasn' normal aroun' here."

"Aye. Nothin' could bring 'im doon." Donald smiled ruefully, his own eyes sparkling at the memory of their old Great Western friend.

"He'd stroll 'round like a man in a park wi'out a care or a worry en the werld," He continued, "Almost like he'd 'ad on an invincible coat tha'd shield him from this place."

"He did, didn't he?" Duck smiled sadly, and like the Caledonian twins, his own eyes began to twinkle with mirth and nostalgia, "I think, out of all of us was the bravest engine to run on this line. It's even thanks to him that we've less trouble from the trucks."

"Aye, he was brave." Douglas agreed, "I think it's completely fair to say that we all liked Oliver from the start."

By now, all three of the three engines turned their eyes upwards, and gazed into the deep, sparkling blue of the starry night sky.

Oliver's departure had hit hard for the engines of 'The Little Western'; he had wanted to leave the island and go on more adventures – despite having only escaped the cutter's torch by a hair's breadth – Oliver was confident that he could take on the world.

It had been worse for the coaches – Isabelle and Dulcie were left behind, and The Fat Controller had relegated them to spare coaches when Duck needed help with the Passenger Services on the line.

Another auto-fitted engine was sent to help, but it wasn't the same for the poor girls.

They especially longed for Oliver to return.

Each of them was wondering about what had happened to their old Great Western friend. But eventually, each of the engines drifted silently off to sleep; all hoping that he would someday return to the Island.

The clock struck midnight. Owls, Crickets and other creatures of the night hooted and chirped at each other as time passed slowly by.

The mainline was dormant, almost ghostly – despite the fog not being down. There were no services running at this hour, and most engines were tucked away in their sheds for the night.

Except for one.

Near Crosby Station, a very distinctive tank engine was puffing down into the station throat. The on-duty night staff - few as there were now - could see that the engine wasn't alone.

He was pulling a van with him, and it rocked contentedly along behind. The engine slowed as it drew into the station platform, the dim lights faintly illuminating the engine's form.

The night-staff were sure they were seeing things.

The engine had been painted a very deep shade of green; he had a tall funnel, and an equally tall dome. In front of his cab, there were polished brass fittings, which complimented his green paint.

Flanking the front of his cab, the engine had two side tanks with the letters: 'G', 'W', 'R' painted in gold and red on either one. And lastly, he had four black driving wheels and one pair of inside trailers.

And now that he was in the light, it was clear to see that the engine was pulling a brakevan with him.

The engine left the station behind and forged on ahead, into the night.

"Almost there . . . Crosby, Knapford, and then Tidmouth . . ." The engine panted, "Two more stations after this one, and I'll be at the sheds. Y'hear that, Toad? We're almost home now!"

Toad said nothing, but the engine heard a faint snoring coming from behind his cab. The engine smirked and gave a mute chuckle.

"Never change, Toad." He sighed, "Never change . . ."

The engine picked up speed and tore off towards Knapford Station.


End file.
